


In the Bleak Mid-Winter

by Interiorwinter



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 11:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21899209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interiorwinter/pseuds/Interiorwinter
Summary: Christmas isn't Spencer Reid's favorite time of year, but an odd gift he stumbled upon in a curious antique store may change that forever.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Aaron Hotchner
Comments: 28
Kudos: 91





	1. Frosty wind made moan

**Author's Note:**

> So the plan was to write a short one off Christmas fluff, but it didn't quite turn out that way. I can’t believe it has been over a year since I started this, but as I’m now working from home it worked its way back into my brain.

There was no snowfall to soften the sharp grey lines of DC as Dr Spencer Reid strode purposefully along the street not far from his apartment. An icy wind cut into his lean figure and not for the first time Spencer wished he wasn’t so beanpole thin. Three years working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation meant that he was carrying more muscle tone than he had as an academy recruit, but given he had started from a negative index it didn’t actually amount to much. ‘In the bleak mid-winter; Frosty wind made moan,’ the opening lines of the Christmas carol skittered through his mind and a small sigh escaped his lips. Christmas was far from Spencer Reid’s favorite time of year, he despised the quiet desperation that filled him during the holiday season. He didn’t bother with a tree, it seemed pointless, there was no one to share mysteriously wrapped gifts lovingly placed beneath it. So he had no cause to ask if he could look more closely at the glass ornament on display in the somewhat dingy window, and yet that was exactly what he was about to do. It had caught his eye as he hurried past, wanting to get home before the weather turned even more angry. Delicate blown glass, swirls of silver undulating on a rich blue ground. He stopped and read the small handwritten card propped against the box ‘Mid eighteenth-century Christmas Bauble Venetian glass’. A whim placed his hand on the cold metal of the brass doorknob as he turned it gently. Spencer opened the door to the small antique store unsure of exactly what he was doing. The soft jangle of a bell sounded, a musty smell of things belonging to another time tickled his nose, making him twitch. 

“Can I help you sir?” a quavery voice asked from the dimness at the other end of the store. Spencer peered into the gloom but wasn’t quite able to make out more than an indistinct hunched shape, gender undetermined.

“Yes, maybe, I um… could I have a look at the Christmas ornament in the window, the blue and silver one?”

“Of course, let me fetch it for you, come up to the counter and I’ll turn on the lamp.” A warm yellow glow appeared in the murky shadows as Spencer moved towards the dark oak counter that partially obscured the small figure behind it. An elderly man shuffled around the side and smiled welcomingly at him. His rounded shoulders and unsteady gait suggested an individual of advanced years, however his eyes sparkled with warmth and intelligence, an echo of the youth he had once been. Spencer thought he detected a curious sense of knowing in the eyes of the other that, strangely, made him feel like he belonged there, in the dingy shop with the odd, old man. 

The antique dealer carefully lifted the velvet lined box from the window display and shuffled back to the counter where Spencer waited. Once he thought he was within his customer’s earshot he began to reel off information about the piece, much as Spencer would have, were their roles reversed.

“You have a discerning eye young man, this is a rare and beautiful object. The Germans invented glass Christmas tree ornaments in the sixteenth century, hand blown glass baubles were produced in Lauscha. This one however is Italian, made to order from Venetian glass, the last remaining one of a set of seven, each a different colour. They were commissioned by a Prussian/Polish prince who, not happy with the quality of the local product, sent to Venice to have a set made of Murano glass as a gift for his beloved.” He finished speaking as he placed the box on the counter in front of Spencer. The blue and silver sphere glittered seductively from where is lay nestled in the rich navy velvet. 

“Is this the original case?” Spencer queried.

“Yes,” the old man replied. “Each decoration came in its own velvet lined calfskin box. I believe the inscription on each one read something slightly different, but I can’t verify that with any certainty.” He closed the lid of the case and Spencer could see the soft calfskin was embossed with small gilded lettering. ‘Beloved, if ever we are apart, this wish will reunite us’.

“Odd,” Spencer murmured. “What do you know of its provenance?” he asked softly, opening the lid and gazing at the swirls of silver. It was obviously a kind of optical illusion, but Spencer thought the twisting, spiral pattern rippled with movement as he looked at it, like a pulse pumping blood through veins. 

“Some stories,” the elderly man’s voice sounded with the barest trace of an old sadness, and Spencer looked up from the ornament to meet sharp blue eyes. “It was given to my mother by a descendant of the original owner. She was a Polish Jew who managed to escape to Great Britain in 1937. The family she worked for were astute enough to see the gathering clouds and although of German and Polish heritage, they were not sympathetic to the Third Reich. They took her with them when they resettled, the Prince of Pless, Heinrich Von Hochberg had married an impoverished English aristocrat, so they had no difficulty settling into British society. My mother never explained why she was the recipient of the ornament, a strange gift no, for a Jewish refugee? She brought it with her when she and my father emigrated to begin a new life far away from the old world. She told me something of the background of the family that saved her, and the story of the commission by one of the family ancestors, but nothing in any detail. She also told me that it was merely ours to watch over, and I would know who to give it to, when the right time came.”

“So why are you selling it?” Spencer asked, a small line appearing between his brows as he drew them together in a confused frown. 

“I’m not,” the old man replied. “That’s why there is no price listed on the card.”

“I don’t understand,” Spencer’s frown deepened further. “Why was it on display in your window?”

“How else would the right person find it?” the old man said calmly. Spencer felt like he had drifted into a parallel universe where he understood the words the other was saying but they didn’t quite make sense. 

“I suppose, um… I don’t really know. So, it’s not for sale then?”

“No, definitely not.” 

“Okay, well then, um, thanks for showing it to me, it’s beautiful. I don’t actually have a tree to put it on, so I guess there’s no point me actually…” Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag and took a step backwards, away from the counter. “So er… Merry Christmas, I mean, Happy Hanukkah,” Spencer blushed a little and almost tripped over his own feet as he turned to leave the store.

“Wait!” 

Spencer stopped mid stride and shifted back to face the old man. He watched as the man behind the counter bent a little and picked up a plain black velvet drawstring bag before sliding the calfskin box into it. “It’s not for sale, but it is yours. A gift.” The elderly man’s blue eyes twinkled a little in amusement at the shocked expression on Spencer’s face.

“But I couldn’t possibly, I mean, it’s very valuable and like I said, I don’t have a Christmas tree...”

“So get one.” The man leaned towards Spencer, holding the gift in his outstretched hand. Before he could mouth any more objections, Spencer’s feet carried him forward and his hand closed over the soft velvet pouch.

“Thank-you” he whispered softly.

“No, thank -you,” the old man sighed. “I’ve been waiting for you a long time.” He released his grip on the pouch and stepped back from the glow of the lamp. Spencer turned and left the store, the bell above the door sounding his departure. He hurried home through the darkness, clutching the pouch protectively against his chest and wondering how on earth he was ever going to find a Christmas tree two days before Christmas Eve.


	2. Earth stood hard as iron

Relentless, unyielding, implacable, were all words he had heard used to describe the tall, dark-haired man he slid into the elevator beside early the next morning. Spencer knew though, there was another side to SSA Aaron Hotchner, a warmer, less fierce, compassionate core underneath the hard exterior. He had felt it one terrible night in a graveyard in Georgia as his boss had wrapped his arms around him, holding him through the horror of that time and then supporting him through the nightmare following it. He had seen it when his mentor abandoned them and left him adrift like a piece of flotsam tossed by the unpredictable current of life. Hotch had pulled him to safety, grounded him by making it clear how necessary he considered Spencer to be to their work, to the team. He had long ago made peace with the attraction he felt for Hotch, the sharp tug of want that had made him so awkward at the beginning had almost disappeared, replaced instead by the calmness of a strong friendship and mutual respect. He was a little surprised to feel that jolt of desire again as the elevator doors closed, the whisper of Hotch’s cologne curling around him in the enclosed space. 

“You’re here early,” Hotch turned to him and smiled, but Spencer noticed that lately when Hotch smiled it rarely reached his eyes. The team were all aware that their boss was having some ‘domestic difficulties’, but wisely, this was not a topic any of them felt comfortable broaching.

“I might be here, but I’m not sure I’m sentient yet.”

“Coffee?”

“Lots. Fast.”

Hotch chuckled. “I’m not used to one-word sentences from you.”

“That’s all you’re likely to get until my third cup.”

“So, all I need to do to sabotage the brilliant mind of Doctor Spencer Reid is take away the coffee machine?”

Spencer glared at the man beside him through hooded eyes. “I would advise against that, they’d never find your body.”

This time Hotch’s grin was wide and genuine enough for Spencer’s breath to catch in his throat. God but Hotch was beautiful when he smiled, he reflected with a sudden ache. 

“What’s so urgent that it made you forego your extended caffeine breakfast?” 

“Well actually, um… I’m here early because I was hoping it would be okay if I leave once my consults are finished, I… I need to find a Christmas tree.” Spencer kept his eyes lowered as he answered, not trusting himself to control the want he felt sure Hotch would see writ clearly across his face.

“That’s cutting it fine Reid, all the nicely shaped ones will be sold by now. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes still firmly fixed on his shoes. “I know, that’s why, is it okay?”

Hotch frowned. “Garcia has organized a small get-together after work. I’m not sure I want to be held responsible for your absence. She’d string me up by my tie.”

“You have a point. Nevermind, it isn’t important, I mean Christmas isn’t really my thing anyway, I’ll just, um … it doesn’t matter.”

Hotch felt a sudden rush of sympathy for his colleague, the slender young man who seemed to always carry an air of fragility around him, even though Hotch knew better. Spencer Reid had endured some of the worst things anyone could imagine, and had come through them, changed perhaps, but not broken. Hotch reflected that it would be his first Christmas without Haley and Jack, his soon to be ex-wife was spending the holidays with her parents and Aaron had been given the distinct impression he wasn’t welcome. Schedule permitting, he would spend some time with his son in the New Year, but that didn’t stop the wedge of loneliness he felt at the thought of Christmas without his family. He had bought a tree a week ago, but he had been too heart weary to decorate it yet. He couldn’t quite see the point. 

“Actually, I have a tree that I don’t, well, need. You can have it. That way you can escape Garcia’s wrath and still get what you want.”

“That’s really generous of you Hotch, but you don’t have to do that. Like I said, it’s um, not that important.”

Hotch placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly. Spencer felt his body hum at the contact.  
“It was important enough for you to come to work without coffee, that rates it pretty highly on my scale. I can drop it off at your place after whatever embarrassing frivolities Garcia inflicts on us.”

“You really don’t have to bother…” The elevator chimed their arrival on the sixth floor and Hotch stepped out without waiting to hear Spencer’s objections, the matter settled. 

“I’ll put the coffee on,” Hotch called over his shoulder as he pushed open the double glass doors to the bull pen. Spencer had to leap out of the elevator to stop himself being carried all the way back down to the ground floor. He sighed quietly before following Hotch through the doors and heading for his desk. The nearness to Hotch, the hand on his shoulder had unsettled him more than he expected. He needed a few minutes to get himself back under control. No one else had arrived yet, so Spencer settled behind his desk, trying to enjoy the quiet and calm before his co-workers turned up to begin their day.   
It shouldn’t matter to him as much as it did, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let himself unravel. He took a couple of slow deep breaths, willing himself to steady the ache of need that had wound its way through him and closed his eyes.   
The smell of freshly brewed coffee alerted him to Hotch’s presence before the deep velvet of his bosses voice asked worriedly “Are you alright? Spencer?” Reid opened his eyes.

“Yeah, yes, I just need … that” he covered quickly, reaching for the outstretched mug Hotch was holding.

“I think I got it right”

“You’re perfect, I mean you got it perfect, um perfectly right,” he said hurriedly sipping the steaming brew and almost burning his mouth in the process. Hotch smiled wryly.

“You really are barely functional without coffee, Reid.” Spencer was suddenly grateful that Hotch attributed his slip of the tongue to caffeine withdrawal. He would need to guard himself carefully so as not to make any more mistakes. He wondered how he would cope with being alone this evening with Hotch and he decided not at all well.

“Hotch, about the Christmas tree, you don’t have to…”

“It’s done.” Hotch said, stepping away from Reid’s desk and walking towards his office. Spencer followed him with his eyes, the strong set of his shoulders and resolute stride, and Spencer knew there was no point arguing any further.


	3. Earth stood hard as iron (cont.)

The tinny Christmas music made Spencer wince a little as he watched his colleagues laugh together. They were gathered around David Rossi, who was extolling the virtues of fast cars and even faster women. Spencer stood on the periphery, still within earshot but not quite as close as the others. Celebrations like this always made him aware of the distance he felt between himself and everyone else, even those who were closer to him than any other group of people ever had been. Hotch also stood slightly apart, although on the opposite side of the room from Spencer. This was nothing unusual, there was an aloofness about Aaron Hotchner that could be felt even if he was standing right beside you. Hotch’s attention appeared to be firmly fixed on Rossi’s narrative, so Spencer risked a lingering glance in his direction. He tried to pinpoint exactly what it was about the man that made him so compelling. Yes he was handsome, that jawline had made Spencer catch his breath more than once and when Hotch unleashed his dimples Spencer almost had to hold onto the nearest piece of furniture to steady himself. It was more than just physical though, there was something inherently noble about Hotch, although Spencer suspected there was also a darkness that was held tightly in check. Maybe it was these paradoxes that drew Spencer to the man, Hotch was hard, yet capable of great gentleness, gravely serious at times, but with a sharp, dry wit. Emotionless? Spencer doubted that. He suspected there was a deeply passionate nature hidden under the soft woolen folds of that well-tailored suit. Hotch would, he thought, approach his intimate encounters like he approached everything else, driven by intensity and desire. He briefly allowed himself to wonder what Hotch would be like as lover, and then dark eyes met his and Hotch raised one eyebrow quizzically. Spencer felt himself blush, and quickly dropped his gaze. While a Christmas party was not high on Spencer’s list of places he wanted to be, the thought of being alone with Hotch made him shiver a little with both uneasiness and anticipation.

Hotch moved towards Spencer, circling the group surrounding Rossi until he stood beside the young profiler.

“Shall we make our apologies and leave?” Hotch said softly.

“Um, yeah, I guess. I mean, it would be okay to leave now wouldn’t it?” Spencer replied hesitantly. Hotch smiled.

“Well you were looking at me like you needed saving from something, or someone. We should probably make our getaway before Garcia pulls out the mistletoe and tries to make me kiss everyone.”

“That would be…um, yes, we should probably avoid that” Spencer babbled, the thought of Hotch’s mouth on his sent a hot thrill racing through his body and he could feel himself starting to blush again. A sharp burst of laughter broke from the group and Hotch used the lull following it.

‘Thank-you Garcia for organizing our festive celebrations, but Reid and I have an important errand to take care of so we will wish you good night and Happy Holidays”

“No, no, no, no… you can’t go yet! There’s still lots of trashy but strangely endearing entertainment to involve yourselves in and I have mistletoe” Garcia pleaded.

“Difficult as it is to forego such a tempting offer, I’m afraid we have more urgent matters to attend to.” Hotch leaned across and whispered theatrically in Garcia’s ear. ‘He doesn’t have a Christmas Tree, I have to take him to pick one up’. Garcia stared at Reid in surprise.

“How can you not have a Christmas Tree?” It’s Christmas time! What is wrong with you baby G-man?”

Spencer shrugged and looked desperately at Hotch as if his boss could somehow protect him from Garcia’s probing inquisitiveness.

“That’s an excellent question Penelope,” Hotch said smoothly, his hand wrapping around Spencer’s bicep and guiding him towards the doors. “However, traffic being what it is, you will have to wait until tomorrow for Reid to give you an answer.” Spencer gave the group a half-hearted wave as Hotch all but bundled him into the elevator.

“I knew she’d have mistletoe” Hotch murmured. Spencer grinned

“You managed that well, she seemed quite determined”

“Yes, well, perhaps I’m slightly more grateful to you for giving me an excuse to leave early than I let on.”

“Um…you’re welcome? I didn’t think you’d mind parties, I mean, you’re not like me, you don’t have…problems being with a group of people.”

“I guess I’m not in right frame of mind right now. And I wouldn’t say you have ‘problems’. Someone told me once that it’s about how you draw your energy. Some people feel energized by being in a group of people, others depleted. There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with you Reid.” Hotch’s hand once again found its way to Spencer’s shoulder, the second reassuring touch for the day, and Spencer felt himself melt a little into it. It wasn’t unusual for Hotch to use physical gestures with him, a warm hand on his shoulder, a congratulatory pat on the back. He never draped himself on Reid the way Morgan sometimes did, but he certainly wasn’t reticent about touching him, and if Spencer felt that maybe Hotch was a little more quick with a gesture than he had been before, he put it down to the possibility that his boss was feeling a little touch starved.

They drove to Hotch’s house in amicable silence, Spencer was surprised at the lack of any festive decorations but kept his observations to himself. He helped Hotch fold down the seats of his SUV to accommodate the tree and then gave him the directions to his own apartment. The strong smell of pine permeated the car, mixed with the vehicle’s heating it made Spencer feel a little claustrophobic. He shifted in his seat, before cracking his window open a fraction despite the cold night air.

“Are you okay?” Hotch glanced across at his passenger before turning his focus back to the road.

“The scent, it’s a bit overwhelming. I’m fine though, just not used to it.”

“Didn’t you have a real tree at Christmas?”

“Sometimes I didn’t even have Christmas. There were a couple of years in my early teens when mom decided that Christmas was the perfect cover for the government to spy on people. She was convinced that there were bugs in the trees, that carolers were agents, that door wreaths could hide explosive devices.” Spencer kept his eyes fixed resolutely on the road. “I guess that’s partly why Christmas doesn’t have quite the same appeal to me as it does to others.”

“Spence, I’m sorry.” Aaron’s voice was low and warm, not with pity, Spencer decided, but with empathy. “Not all families have the kind of Christmases they want, or deserve.” Hotch’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel and Spencer wondered if he too had some less than idyllic Christmas memories.

“Luckily there’s time to make better ones,” Spencer tried to sound optimistic and was rewarded with one of Hotch’s dimple popping smiles.

“That there is.” Hotch’s hand landed firmly on Spencer’s thigh, and Spencer willed himself not to react, not to buck his hips into the touch. Hotch seemed to sense the way Reid tensed and pulled his hand away.

“Sorry, I forget sometimes that you don’t like to be touched.”

“I don’t mind, really, I’m just…sometimes it takes me by surprise.”

Hotch was still contemplating a response when Spencer interrupted his thoughts

“Next turn to the left, it’s the red brick one.”

“You live here?” Hotch asked a little in awe as he pulled the car up in front of the imposing late nineteenth century façade.

‘It has atmosphere” Spencer smiled, pleased that something about him appeared to impress Hotch, even if it was only his choice of residence.

“It suits you,” Hotch decided. “Let’s get this thing installed.” Spencer helped Hotch manouvre the tree out of the car and up the stairs to his apartment.

Spencer had chosen a position and they set the tree into the stand Hotch had thoughtfully thrown into the back of the SUV alongside the tree. Hotch stood back to admire his handywork.

“Almost looks like it grew there”, he said grinning at the large conifer now invading Spencer’s living space.

“If I lived in the middle of an Alaskan forest, yeah” Spencer replied, a little overwhelmed.

Hotch laughed. “It will look better once we decorate it. You do have decorations don’t you Reid?”

“Well, um, I have one.”

“One decoration?”

“Yes, it’s kind of why I wanted the tree.”

“So, you bought a Christmas tree decoration, and then needed to get a tree to put it on.” said Hotch in a tone that suggested Spencer might have just grown a second head.

“I didn’t actually buy it, it was gift. Um, maybe I could make us something to drink and explain.”

The two men sat sipping hot chocolate while Spencer recounted the story of the Venetian glass bauble. Spencer slid the calfskin box across to Hotch who opened it with care. The glass ornament caught the soft light of the reading lamps and Hotch turned the case gently watching the play of colors.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. Hotch lifted the ornament gingerly from case and held it in his palm.

“Yes it is,” Spencer replied, but he was thinking more about the face of the man beside him than the gift.

Hotch’s eyes met his and Spencer felt himself blush a little, there was something, a hum, a connection that made the young agent feel warm all over.

“Sometimes I wish I knew what was going on in your head Reid,” Hotch said softly, his gaze returning to the blue glass in his hand.

Spencer chuckled nervously, “It’s probably better that you don’t”, an image of himself leaning forward and taking Hotch’s mouth with his own suddenly implanting itself in his mind.

Hotch jerked his head up and stared at Reid, and Spencer could see something in the older man’s eyes he could barely bring himself to recognize; fear.

“Hotch, what’s wrong?”

“No, nothing,” he stumbled over the words as he hastily replaced the bauble in its box, his previous caution abandoned. “I just um…it’s late, I should get going.” Hotch stood quickly and he scanned the room for his coat.

“Yeah, um… of course, and thanks for the tree,” Spencer said, trying to work out what had spooked his usually implacable boss so badly. As Hotch shrugged his coat on Spencer noticed he pressed his fingertips to his lips and a bewildered look crossed his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Reid.” Hotch called as he all but fled out of the apartment, leaving Spencer to wonder what on earth had just happened. He locked the door behind Hotch and returned to living room, collecting the thin gold wire he had purchased that afternoon to hang the decoration from his messenger bag. He carefully threaded it through the loop at the top of the ball and placed the bauble on the tree, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He expected that the tree would look ridiculous with just one paltry decoration hanging from a branch, but it didn’t, at least not to him. Spencer thought it looked perfect, and he could almost swear that for a moment the swirling silver patterns looked like letters, before he blinked and scrunched his eyes. It had been a very odd evening he decided, and he should probably take himself to bed, where, if he was lucky, he might dream about Aaron…

**Author's Note:**

> The Von Hochberg family is real, they are Prussian/Polish Princes, but all details about the family are fictional.


End file.
